Back to the Future
by Hattie1997
Summary: Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age, comes up with a plan to end the War between the Light and the Dark. The plan? Bring Tom Riddle back from the past and get him to see that friendship does exist. Only, she finds something she hadn't bartered for. That thing? Love.
1. Chapter 1

**For those of you who haven't read any of my other stories, only Hermione and Tom's POV's will be in the first person, the rest will be in the third person.**

**I read a really good Tom / Hermione fanfic and it gave me the idea for this one so I hope you like it. Thanks.**

**It Started With A Plan**

Hermione:

It was just a normal day; well, as normal as our days ever were. Harry and Ron were playing Wizard's chess over by the fireplace, both of their eyebrows furrowed with concentration, their tongues peeking out from between their parched lips.

Both had changed drastically over the summer. Ron had always been lanky, but now he was one of the tallest in our year and despite being only fifteen was already taller than Fred and George, who were both a lot stockier. He had grown his hair out so that it covered his ears and it now fell in silky, ginger waves. His eyes were the same brilliant blue as before but now they stood out in his ever paler face. I mean, did that boy ever go out in the sun?

Harry, on the other hand, wasn't as tall or as lanky. Yes, he was still a lot taller than me but he was more like the twin's height and not a freakishly tall giant like my other best friend. His hair was as messy as ever – was that really as surprise? – And his eyes were still the same gorgeous emerald green.

The twins were playing exploding snap with some of their seventh year friends near to my two best friends, while Ginny chatted with some of her forth year mates. They all seemed suitably busy and wouldn't notice if I disappeared for a bit. I had an idea of how to stop this war, but to do so I needed Dumbledore's permission.

And so, with that thought, I quickly took my leave of the Gryffindor Common Room and made my solitary way to Professor Dumbledore's office. Murmuring the password that I had been given due to my prefect status I ascended the winding staircase, mumbling what I was going to say when I finally reached the top. I _had to _get Dumbledore to agree to this plan; it may be one of the only ways to defeat You-Know…Voldemort.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked lightly on the plain, oak-wood door, my heart beating a mile a minute as the Headmaster called for me to enter. Nodding to myself, I did so, taking the only seat behind the desk.

Professor Dumbledore regarded me through his half-moon spectacles, his bright blue eyes twinkling mysteriously. He was twirling a strand of wispy, white hair around his finger absentmindedly as he stared.

"I believe you have a proposition for me?"

That knocked me out of the stupor-like state I had been in and I nodded emphatically, steeling myself for whatever he thought of my plan.

"Well, you see, Professor. I was researching time spells to see what made a Time Turner work…because I was curious…and I came across this spell that can bring people or objects from the past to the future. It is called _Reverterentur ad Futurum, _meaning Back to the Future in Latin."

"I am sorry, Miss Granger, but I don't see your point."

"Oh," I murmured, slightly embarrassed. "Well, I was thinking that we could bring Tom Riddle Jr back from the past and teach him what friendship and love is all about. By doing this we could destroy Voldemort."

Dumbledore was quiet for the longest time before he nodded slowly, unsurely. For the briefest moment I caught a glimpse of hesitation in his blue eyes, but then it was gone and confidence filled them once more. He held out a hand, his eyes silently begging me, and I complied, placing the book in his palm.

After a moment of silent reading, the Headmasters wand came up, his eyes locking with mine once more as he said the words that would change our life. Change our destiny.

"_Reverterentur ad Futurum_."

**XxX**

And somewhere, about fifty years ago, a piercing scream filled the air as a seventeen-year-old boy was ripped from his life and transported forward in time.

_"Reverterentur ad Futurum."_

Back to the Future.


	2. That Was Lord Voldemort

**Shizyldrew - I hope I have updated quickly enough and you like this chapter more than the last one. Either way, please read and review. Thanks.**

**That Was Lord Voldemort**

Tom:

I opened my eyes cautiously, wondering what that terribly painful, gut-wrenching feeling had been. It felt like what I imagined the Cruciatus Curse would, but I couldn't actually attest to that due to the fact that it had never actually been put on me before. Yes, I had placed it on other people, but only if they deserved it.

Groggily I raised my head to see a slim, petite hand thrust in my direction. I followed the arm to the person it belonged to, and my eyes came across a stunningly pretty Witch. Her hair fell in chocolate curls with natural red highlights fell down her back like a waterfall, a few tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Her cocoa-coloured eyes had flecks of gold streaked through them, giving them a glass-like, shining look. She had a small, slightly-upturned nose and full, red lips that were curving into a slight grin.

"Do you want a hand?" she asked, amused, and I realised with a shock that I had been staring at her in shock for a long time without moving. That thought made me frown. No one – and I mean _no one _– makes a fool of Tom Riddle.

"I'm fine," I snapped back.

Instead of being upset as I had expected, she just rolled her eyes and allowed me to haul myself up. Once I did so, however, I wished I hadn't been so eager to stand as all the blood rushed to my head at the sight in front of me. There stood Professor Dumbledore, only it wasn't the Transfiguration Professor I knew. This one was older, his hair longer and whiter. His beard was held together by a single, silver hair bobble. His twinkling blue eyes were the same as ever and he still gave me the impression that he was X-raying me over his half-moon spectacles. He was wearing light blue robes with shining stars all over them in typical Dumbledore fashion. That, however, wasn't what caught my attention. My eyes were inexplicably drawn to his desk, where a copy of The Daily Prophet lay innocently, its front page glaring at me. For a moment I was unsure as to what I was looking at, but then my eyes caught sight of it, and the breath was stolen from my body.

**XxX**

Hermione:

Dumbledore's voice had only just stopped ringing in the small, homely room before a young man of about sixteen literally fell from the ceiling, his eyes tightly closed and an expression of the utmost pain on his handsome face.

His hair, which was swept to one side in an unruly mass due to his sudden fall, was jet black and his eyes, when he opened them, were midnight blue and cold. I shuddered slightly at his unnerving gaze but ignored the uncomfortably feeling that was creeping over me and instead held out a hand to help him up. His skin was unnaturally pale but it only highlighted the dark colour of his hair and eyes, which travelled slowly up my arm and alighted on my face.

I found myself shifting awkwardly as he regarded me but masked it with a look of amusement and indifference as he finally shook himself and stared, once again, at the immobile hand I was holding out.

"Do you want a hand?"

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep the slightly cocky tone out of my voice and his eyes darkened furiously as he bit out, "I'm fine," and practically jumped up.

For a moment I was scared that he was going to collapse from the blood rushing to his head, but then I followed his gaze and it alighted on the copy of The Daily Prophet. With a small laugh I realised what had caught his attention.

**XxX**

Tom:

_November 14__th__ 1995._

Now, I prided myself on being able to keep a level head no matter the situation, but not even I could keep the wide-eyed disbelief from my usually impassive face at the thought that I had just travelled fifty years into the future.

I whirled from Professor Dumbledore and stared accusingly at the young girl – she couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen – who was probably the one who came up with the idea of bringing me here, if I wasn't going crazy and hallucinating, which I didn't think I was.

"Why am I here?" I demanded furiously, turning from her dark eyes to stare at the man who must be the Headmaster in this time, my own dark eyes narrowing threateningly at the laughter in his eyes.

"All will be revealed in good time, Tom," was his only reply, but I wouldn't be satisfied with just that. These two people had ripped me from my own time and dumped me unceremoniously in a time fifty years from them and he expected me to just let them. Dumbledore, the old fool, must have seen something dangerous in my eyes because he let out a low sigh of defeat, for what must have been the first time in my very long life, and nodded for me to take a seat.

"What are you going to tell him, Professor?" the girl asked, her melodious voice washing over me.

"I cannot tell you, I must show you," was the ominous reply as Dumbledore moved over to the cabinet I knew housed his Pensieve. I chanced a glance at the girl, only to see her staring in utter terror at the Headmaster. With distaste I noticed the crimson and gold that outlined her school uniform. A _Gryffindor._

That thought flew from my mind as the Pensieve was dumped onto the desk, a memory already swirling in the inside.

"This is not actually my memory but one of the charming Mr. Harry James Potter's."

That name rang a bell and, with a jolt, I recalled that there was a Cassius Potter in Gryffindor in my own time.

"The Graveyard," the girl whispered; I hadn't even learnt her name yet.

"Indeed. Are you joining us, Miss Granger?"

So _that _was her name.

"I…" she hesitated and I glanced over at her. Her alluring brown eyes were hesitant as she stared back at me. I raised a singular eyebrow in challenge and she gave a resolute nod.

"Of course, Professor."

I wondered belatedly what was wrong with this Graveyard that _Miss Granger _spoke of, but thought better than to ask. I turned back to the Headmaster and rose, making my way over to the desk.

"You first, Hermione," Dumbledore murmured and the girl – _Hermione _– glanced up at him before nodding once more and leaning forward, her dark, red-highlighted hair falling in front of her before, with a slight sucking noise, she was gone.

I was next and once I'd found my footing, I found myself in a Graveyard, as Hermione Granger had said. Except it wasn't any Graveyard. This was the one just outside Little Hangleton, where my _Father _and _Grandparents _were buried, not that they ever behaved like them to me. They were snobbish prats who deserved what was coming to them.

In fact, we weren't just in the Graveyard, but next to a large Grim Reaper with a Scythe that was standing on top of a very familiar grave. A boy was tied to the statue, his clothes ripped and bloodied with an expression of utter terror on his young face.

Looking in the direction he was staring, I saw an extremely handsome boy of about seventeen lying on the ground in _Hufflepuff _yellow robes, his eyes wide and unseeing. He was very clearly dead, but I didn't dwell on him for long; no one can help the dead.

I turned my attention to the small man who was standing over the dead boy, his rat-like face turned reverently towards a cauldron from which red steam was billowing. He stumbled over to it, and placed the bundle of blankets that were in his hands onto the floor before he opened them, picking up the skeleton-like _thing _before dropping it into the now-foaming potion.

The boy tied to the statue was now crying out in pain, his eyes screwed up. I turned my attention to the cauldron just as something rose from within. My eyes widened in horrified disbelief as bits of material clothed the monster. When he spoke his voice was high-pitched and cruel, his eyes blood red and emotionless as he let out a cold, merciless laugh.

I felt my whole body shaking. Who was this evil man? And what did he have to do with me?

Within a moment we were out of the memory and I found myself throwing up harshly onto the patterned carpet of the Headmasters office. Once I'd wiped my mouth and risen once more, Dumbledore vanished my mess and Hermione Granger directed me to sit in the chair she had been seated on earlier. Her expressive eyes shone with concern but she said nothing, content to let Dumbledore explain.

"Who _was _he?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly before I cleared my throat, my eyes flickering between Hermione, who avoided my gaze, to Dumbledore, who stared at me with what was obviously pity, but neither of them answer.

"Who was he?" I repeated, my usually charming voice lowering in frustration and infuriation. Something was clearly amiss.

"That was you," Professor Dumbledore replied after a moment of silence, in which his eyes never left my face, even after I'd turned away.

At his words my head snapped up and I stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

"That was Lord Voldemort."

I had no reason not to believe him, and the sincerity shining in his twinkling blue eyes served to convince me, as much as I hated the thought.

"You mean…I turn into that?"

"You turn into much worse," Hermione responded even though I had been asking Dumbledore. "You killed Harry's parents when he was only one, causing him to be forced to live with his Aunt and Uncle, who hate him."

"Indeed, Miss Granger, but Mr. Riddle must find out the rest in his own time. All will happen in due time, but for the moment I believe Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Weasley must be informed of this recent development."

"Of course, Professor," Hermione Granger murmured weakly, her face turning a ghastly shade of white. It was clear that her friends had no idea of what she had planned, and she was scared of their reactions.

Dumbledore gave one, singular nod before he moved over to the Phoenix behind his desk, whom I heard him call Fawkes. With a screech and a burst of orange flames, the Phoenix was gone, a single, orange-tipped feather left in his wake.

"I must inform the Professors of this," the Headmaster told us, moving to the door and giving us a final nod of decisiveness before he left, the door slamming loudly in the sudden silence.

I turned towards Hermione, only to see her turning away from me determinedly, her already pale face paling further with awkwardness.

"I'm not going to bite," I told her quietly, amused at her clear fear of me.

"I didn't think you would want to talk to _someone like me,_" she said in a biting tone, her alluring eyes fixing onto mine as she impatiently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"What do you mean _someone like you_?" I asked although I already had a good idea, and it wasn't a pleasant one.

"You know," she hinted roughly, "A Mudblood."

I flinched almost imperceptibly at the hateful tone her voice had taken and the sudden iciness in her previously warm eyes. It was clear that she had been spoken to like this before, but she didn't seem too bad for someone like her, a Mudblood. Instead, I found myself compelled towards her, my feet moving almost before I realised that they had.

"I know I have a preconceived notion about Mud…Muggleborns, but maybe you can convince me to change it."

My voice was quiet, and it was the first time I had actually felt unsure of myself. I wasn't even sure why I was petitioning to her as I was, but I found that I didn't care. Usually Mudbloods were just that to me: Mudbloods, but she had intrigued me in a way no one else had and no one else ever would. Her unruly and yet still beautiful hair seemed to have a life of its own and her flawless skin held no trace of cosmetics or any enhancements. She was innocent and free in her own way, and I loved that about her.

"I will try," she murmured in reply, her voice coming out in a breathy whisper, her minty breath washing over my face, "Do you think you can change?"

"I don't know."

Before I could dwell on the reality of the situation, the door slammed open once more and Dumbledore returned, followed by a woman who bore a large resemblance to fifteen-year-old Minerva McGonagall from my time and a greasy-haired, hook-nosed man in billowing black robes.

"Tom, these are Professors McGonagall and Snape. If you have any queries you can go to them, or myself, or Miss Granger."

I nodded, still scrutinizing McGonagall and trying to determine which relation she was to Minerva. Hermione leaned over slightly so that her lips were near my ear, her voice clear to me but not so to the others in the room.

"Yes, that is Minerva McGonagall."

I gave her a thankful glance – probably the first one I had ever given – before turning back to the Professors in silence, waiting for Mr. Potter and the Weasley's to finally enter, which they did after no more than five minutes.

And then three things happened at one: the black-haired boy leapt forward, arms outstretched, the two redheads behind him reached for his arms, and Hermione leapt in front of me, shielding her face from the inevitable blow.


End file.
